


Blue

by papercutperfect



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Michael wonders, is what colour his eyes are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this photo, on Tumblr

The first thing Michael wonders, is what colour his eyes are.

Too light to be brown, unless they’re the tarnished copper of aging coins; or perhaps a deep sepia like some of the more arty photographs he’s been sent today.

Putting an add in the local newspaper for a freelance male model really did bring the weirdos from the woodwork. Blue-grey eyes cast a dubious look over the mounting pile of rejected portfolio photographs on his desk. Most of the guys were handsome enough for the simple shoot, but far too many depended heavily on the situation of the photograph, which were steadily growing cheesier and cheesier with each envelope he opened. Sprawled on a beach with a buxom blond, riding horses through a meadow, forcing a huge laugh on an unmoving carousel… Ugh.

This guy hadn’t needed exotic backgrounds or wild poses to catch Michael’s attention. Black and white Polaroid, a simple sitting position, gazing directly into the camera as if he could see _through_ it. It was almost unsettling, the - dare he say it - penetrating hold of the man’s eyes, so strong it was almost impossible to look away to study the rest of the photograph.

Innocence, at first glance, what with that rumpled schoolboy hair and fuzzy beginnings of a beard. But closer inspection brought notice of the subtle dip to the man’s eyebrows, the curl of his Cupid’s bow lips. Ever so slightly looking up, shoulders relaxed, enticing: it was the look of a man that could break you from the inside out, seduce you with a single smile through the faded black and white of a Polaroid. The more Michael stared, the more the guy seemed to grin back at him, blink those fathomless eyes, beckon him through the barrier of inks and grainy film.

Skin that looked pale even in the colourless picture, smooth and unmarked. Graceful curve to his neck, the glimpse of collarbones before they disappeared beneath that indecently lowcut V-neck. It brought out a side of Michael he’d never really known existed before: he wanted to _bite_ it, suck a flaw into that alabaster skin, cover it in purple bruises that perfectly fit the shape of his mouth.

Jesus. Michael ran a large palm over his face, through close-cut auburn hair, shaking his head lightly at his own lack of control. Get a grip on yourself.

Flipping the photo over, Michael read the neatly written name and address. James McAvoy, London. James, huh? Suited him.

He could imagine himself saying that name quite easily, actually.

Clearing his throat, Michael resolutely set the photo aside and scooped up the next envelope. Blond guy in the shower, tastefully cut off at his waist of course, and nauseatingly cheesy. Michael shuddered, tossed it onto the reject pile.

The mini-mountain of unwanted photographs grew higher as time ticked by, and Michael constantly found his gaze gravitating toward James. That little smile, those eyes on him no matter where he moved. Inches of white skin. Hair that begged to be tugged.

The phone was in his hand before Michael could even register himself moving, keying in the printed number on the back of the photograph.

Answerphone. Damnit.

“Hello, James? This is Michael Fassbender, calling about the photoshoot you auditioned for. If you’re still interested, I’d like for you to come down for a sort of interview, maybe tomorrow, 1 o clock?”

He stopped himself from asking the guy to dinner so soon. He didn’t want to freak James out - it wasn’t _that_ kind of audition, after all.

—

The first thing Michael noticed when James slid through his office door the next day, were the guy’s eyes.

 _Blue._


End file.
